Your Love is a Drug
by Samalander
Summary: Addiction, Intervention, Withdrawals, Rehabilitation. A Robin x Slade, Beast Boy x Robin tale of lust and frienship, in four parts.
1. Begin

Robin was careful. Years of training with Batman-- and yes, Bruce had taught him about i that /i sort of thing, too-- served him well. He'd locked his doors and windows before going out, left the R-cycle in the garage. He'd even mumbled some kind of excuse about needing to catch up on sleep before he'd gone up to his room. And he'd waited until the right moment, not a second longer. Those few hours between night and morning when everyone but lovers and criminals were asleep.

And which one was he, really?

He knew exactly how long he could spend with Slade before he had to get back. He'd even factored in the time it would take if Slade decided to play one of his little games-- strip Robin naked, tie him up and go have a cup of coffee while the poor boy screamed for release.

As it went with these things, he'd been doing it for so long that he'd almost forgotten about not getting caught. It just didn't seem like a possibility any more. After all, if no one had noticed for all these weeks, why would they notice now? They wouldn't. And besides, Robin was a loner, always had been. If he went out by himself for a few hours at night, none of the Titans thought much of it. At least, that's what he told himself.

This night-- rather, morning now, it was almost four-- seemed no different. Robin tapped in the security code at the front door of the tower, then knelt to take his boots off as the door slid silently aside. He crept into the main hallway, up the stairs. His mind was busy somewhere else, going through all the little details of his lie, just like Bruce had taught him. How to clean up without anyone hearing you. Finding little excuses to explain away scratches and rope-burns. He stepped into the main room-- the one with the massive window that faced the harbor-- without even bothering to look inside first.

Beast Boy's eyes shone in the dark like a cat's. Robin stopped where he was, stood there and stared with his shoes in one hand, hair ruffled and probably smelling of sweat and cheap lubricant. He said nothing as Beast Boy slowly took in his appearance.

"So, it's true, isn't it?" Beast Boy said quietly.

Slowly, Robin set his shoes down at his feet; he wiped his sweaty hands on his thighs. He still said nothing.

"That rumor about you and Slade," Beast Boy went on, a little louder. "What Raven said. It's true."

Robin could have said a hundred things. He could have denied it. He could have played innocent, or at least used one of the excuses that he'd so carefully constructed. Instead, he said, "Yeah."

A heavy silence decended between them as Beast Boy considered this. If allowed to think about things long enough, the boy could be dangerously intelligent.

Watching him, Robin felt... guilty. Not just because he went to see Slade, or what he did. It was that he enjoyed it. No, it was just i how much /i he enjoyed it. Slade's lair was sound-proof, all noise muffled by the creak and grind of tons of machinery. Robin let himself go there as he had nowhere else: he was free to writhe and scream and cry out, and he did. He could forget all about the Titans, about the city, about the world. And that was a betrayal in it's own right. The Titans had been his dream, once. Now-- now, was it so much of a burden that he had to lie in the arms of his own enemy just to get away from it?

"So," Robin said slowly, as his mind tried to get a grip around just what was happening here, "Raven knows?"

Beast Boy's eyes narrowed. "They all know."

Another silence. Far away, a clock rang half-past. The boys glanced towards it, relieved to look at anything but each other. It was another few moments before Robin sighed and picked up his boots again. He stepped forward. "Good night, Beast Boy."

"Good night."

End.


	2. Addiction

You order him down, and he goes eagerly and without complaint. You're secretly pleased; there are times when he kicks and fights, and those are good times, but tonight you want him to want it. You want to own him, totally and completely, and you feel at all times that you do, but it seems more so when he lays back and silently begs you with those eyes to make him scream.

And you do. Oh, how you do. Yours isn't a gentle or caring affair; it was never based on love and never will be. His white back arches in the darkness, he reaches above his head to clutch at the pillow, and you smile. Yes, it's better this way, when he knows that he needs it and that you're the only one that can give it to him.

He twists now like a fish caught on a line. He hisses, sucks in breath, tries to quiet his moans. He arches his head back and his whole body goes rigid, begging to be touched. You put your hands on his skin and he whimpers, and then you force him back flat against the bed. You kiss him—- not out of affection, but because you want to own that part of him too—- and his tongue slides past yours, hungry, seeking. Your hands are in his hair. His body presses closer against yours. His small form, pale, vulnerable, tight against you, enveloping you. You pull away, move closer, move harder, until he is somewhere beyond screaming.

But not for long. You bring him back and hold him _there,_ in a place where all he can do is moan and writhe, trying to get away even though he never wants it to stop. You keep him there, listening to his cries until, yes, there, the tears form at the corners of his eyes and spill down his cheeks. And even now, he holds his arms above his head, exposing himself, offering himself to you. He is yours. You own him.

Satisfied, you let him tumble over the edge. His climax is quick and intense; he tenses and shudders and barely makes a sound. Afterwards, he sighs, eyes closed, oblivious to everything but sheer exhaustion. You have already gone. For another night, at least, your position has been reassured. He is yours.

But you also know that he will only belong to you as long as he needs you. The moment he can find another place—- and you cannot think where, but you know that it must exist somewhere—- where he can be satisfied, he will slip through your fingers.

Until then he will come to you. Until then, he is yours.

End.


	3. Intervention

Robin lay on his side in bed, completely dressed, staring at the glowing red numbers of his alarm clock. 2:15 A.M. Time to go.

He threw back the sheets and slid out of bed, then stepped to the door. He wouldn't take the R-cycle this time-- it made too much noise. He'd have to go on foot.

Somehow, Robin suspected Slade wouldn't mind if he showed up sweaty and panting, face flushed from running across the city to the clockwork-filled cavern that Slade called home. It was the way he left, anyway.

He wouldn't have much time tonight. The team'd been out late rounding up criminals from a prison break in the late afternoon; tedious, monotonous work. None of the inmates had put up a fight, only ran when they'd spotted him. It was the work of a moment to toss a birdarang out to trip them up, and then chuck them to the curb for the authorities to pick up.

Slade had been quiet lately. Robin suspected their little late night trysts were keeping him satisfied. And for now, that was a good enough excuse for Robin to keep seeing him.

Boots in one hand, Robin padded quietly down the stairs-- the elevator wasn't an option, not with the way it shuddered down the shaft-- and into the main hall that led to the door.

"Stop."

Robin froze, one hand on the keypad. He glanced over his shoulder; Beast Boy was standing in a weak beam of light spilling from a high window. Robin took his hand away from the door. "Beast Boy, I'm just checking the--"

"No you're not." Beast Boy's voice was cold and angry. "I know what you're doing, I know where you're going, and I'm going to stop you."

Robin bent to set his boots down. "You really want to fight me?"

The other boy slipped into a fighting stance, but his hands were trembling. "No, I really don't. But I will, if that's what it takes." He clenched his fists. "You can't go out there."

"Beast Boy--" Robin sighed. "You couldn't understand."

Beast Boy's eyes narrowed. "Oh yeah? I don't understand what it's like when none of your friends understand how you feel, and the only person that makes you feel even a little normal is your enemy?"

Silence.

"...Maybe you do," Robin said hesitantly. "But then you know that there's nothing you can do to help me."

"I can _try,"_ Beast Boy said, straightening and lowering his arms to his sides. "If you'll let me."

Robin shook his head. "No. It's not that-- he doesn't understand. But he makes me forget that no one else does, either."

"Then," Beast Boy said softly, "I'll help you forget."

Robin's boots were still at the door the next morning, and his bed was still empty. But somehow, he thought, lying in a strange bed with familiar arms around him, he felt a little more understood.

End.


	4. Withdrawal and Rehabilitation

Sometimes Robin hated how easy it was to fool his friends.

He'd stopped seeing Slade. He'd had to cut it off sometime; he'd been running out of excuses for the bruises and rope burns and the way he seemed to drag from lack of sleep. Slade had been a kind of masochistic addiction—and a twisted sort of homesickness. Though he would never go back to it, he sometimes missed the late nights, creeping in shadows, looking up to see _his_ looming black form silhouetted against the moon.

But this wasn't Gotham, it was Jump City, and Slade wasn't Batman, and though Robin was still himself, he wasn't—- well—- _Robin_ anymore.

He'd been sleeping in Beast Boy's bed for more than a month. Around midnight, when all of the other Titans were safe in their rooms, Robin would leave his and put himself in Beast Boy's care. Ostensibly it was so Beast Boy could keep an eye on him, and make sure Robin wasn't stealing out into the night alone anymore. And most nights, that was all there was to it. Robin would step quietly into the room, wait until the other boy made room for him, and then drop heavily into bed.

They _had_ kissed, once or twice, but it wasn't the same as with Slade. How could it be? Slade's kisses were painful, poisonous, bruising his mouth and leaving it tender and raw. Beast Boy was—- well, he was fourteen. Robin couldn't imagine doing anything beyond kissing with him anyway. He didn't love Beast Boy, but he trusted him. And that, for him, was far more important.

Slowly, Robin began to return to something close to normal. He still didn't sleep in his own room—didn't trust himself to—but he'd started doing normal things again, like going out for pizza and sitting down without cringing in pain. He took Starfire to a movie, much to Cyborg's amusement, and was able to stop Mumbo from robbing a bank without dying of boredom halfway through.

And then Slade came back.

As usual, he hacked into the Titans' mainframe and appeared on the main monitor at four thirty in the morning, triggering half a dozen alarms as he did so. Robin woke with a start to find himself wrapped in warm sheets and warm arms, and made it out to the control room without any of the other Titans realizing that he and Beast Boy had come from the same direction.

When Robin saw Slade's one-eyed mask flickering on the monitor, it was as if he stepped out of his own body and watched himself from a distance. His other self was confident, a little righteous, excited at the prospect of a good fight. He saw Beast Boy looking at him, watching him carefully. Slade's voice rang in his ears and poured into his skull and vibrated throughout his body. He couldn't hear the words, only the voice, that deep purring sound—oh, _god…_

They went out into the crisp pre-dawn air, down to the docks. Robin remembered it as a series of pictures in his mind: the Titans charging at his command, the mindless drones Slade seemed to mass-produce swarming over them, and Slade himself. They fought, he knew that much, and he'd had to fight _himself_ on the inside, to keep himself from collapsing at Slade's feet and begging for pleasure, for pain, for _something._

Slade had gone. The drones had been dispatched. It was ten o'clock in the morning by the time they'd finished everything. Cyborg and the girls went out to breakfast and Robin went back to the tower, to "reset the mainframe encryptions." Beast Boy went with him, and Robin was slightly envious that none of the other Titans ever asked him to explain himself. It was only Robin who was supposed to live on logic, who always had all the answers.

Robin headed towards his room; Beast Boy trailed uncertainly behind him. In the doorway, Robin stopped, put his hand on the wall for support, then wavered and fell to his knees.

And screamed.

For one long, blissful moment, he was gone. There was no Tower, no Slade, no Robin, just a long and agonized animal scream that came up from his gut and tore out of his throat, all his pain and confusion and want turned into a sound.

Then there was water—cold, and Robin realized that he was standing, fully clothed, in his own shower with Beast Boy yelling to wake up. The screaming stopped—his emotions coiling back into his body, settling there, congealing—and he wearily shut the water off while Beast Boy leaned back against the sink, looking shaken.

"Are you okay?" Beast Boy asked, handing him a towel, as Robin stepped out of the shower and pulled off his sodden boots.

"I'm—- " Robin's voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't—- it's just that he—- " Robin stopped, realizing that he was still trying to be the leader, trying to explain himself. He let out a shaky breath, and his shoulders slumped. "He was right _there,"_ he said softly. Beast Boy put an arm around him, and Robin leaned his head against his chest, and broke.

"I can't do this."

"Sure you can. You've _been_ doing it."

"I can't lead anyone. Not like this."

"You're doing fine."

"I want to go back."

"No. You don't. Listen, all your stuff's gonna rust. You have to put something dry on."

Robin allowed himself to be undressed, while staring listlessly out the window. The sun was shining, glitter-gleaming on the waters of the bay; the sky was a clear, cloudless blue. How could the world outside go on turning, he thought, when _his_ world was coming apart at the seams? It just wasn't _fair._

But Bruce _had_ warned him, hadn't he? He'd said that once he put the mask on, there was no going back, no being normal again. Even if he decided to give up heroing for good and went to live in a cave somewhere, the mask would still be there, inside of him.

Beast Boy took a dry uniform from the half-dozen waiting in Robin's closet. When Robin was dry and dressed again, they sat on his bed and stared at their reflections in Robin's mirrored closet door.

"Feel better?" Beast Boy asked.

"Yeah. A little."

There was a small pause. It was always awkward, the times when Robin was moving from being a sobbing heap on the floor back to being The Leader. Beast Boy was never really sure what to say to him. He cleared his throat uncertainly.

"You could really use some posters in here," he said, looking around at the sparse furnishings.

Robin smiled a little. "Posters of what?"

"I don't know," Beast Boy shrugged, "movies, or something. Bands. Starfire's got Puffy AmiYumi. You could have…" he thought. "… whatever music you listen to. That rap stuff."

"I just never really got around to replacing… the other things," Robin said, and the façade wavered. Beast Boy put a hand on his shoulder.

There was some more silence.

"Beast Boy?"

"Mm?"

"What's your name?" Robin asked. "I mean, your real name?"

To Robin's surprise, Beast Boy blushed and looked down at his hands. "Don't laugh," he said, then fidgeted a little. "… It's Garfield."

"Garfield? Like—- "

"Like the cat, yes, I know," Beast Boy cut in bitterly. "He turns into animals and he's named after a cat, funny haha, now you know why I don't tell people."

"I was _going_ to say like the president," Robin said, but he couldn't help but smile. "My name's Tim."

Beast Boy glanced over at him. "Tim? Like Timothy?"

"Yeah." Robin shrugged. "It's kind of ordinary."

"No… I like it. Tim." What Beast Boy didn't say was that it reminded him forcefully that Robin had been a person once, and not just a persona. That he was human. "It's still okay if I call you Robin, right?"

"It would be pretty strange to hear you call me anything else."

"You're not going to tell anybody else about my name, right?"

Robin put a hand over his heart. "Your horrifying secret is safe with me."

Beast Boy hit him with a pillow, but it was good to see Robin laughing again. They stayed there in Robin's room, talking about everything, about nothing, until they saw Cyborg's car coming back up the bridge from the mainland.

Robin stood up. "I still have to reset the encryption codes." He started for the door, then turned back to look at Beast Boy. "Um… thanks."

"For doing what friends do?" Beast Boy smiled. "You're welcome."

end.

**Notes**

1. BB and Robin are a little OOC, especially towards the end, but it's pretty much the only way I can imagine them liking each other.

2. Robin is also kind of insane in this fic, but he gets over it.

3. I made Robin's name "Tim" and not "Dick" in this fic. Why? I'll give it to you straight: I _hate_ the name "Dick". It's an awkward name, especially if you write a lot of sex scenes. So yes, even though Grayson!Robin is the most likely candidate for Titans!Robin, I named him Tim. Deal.


End file.
